


UnDead

by aggiepuff



Series: Soulmate Singles [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Charmed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Can You Spot the Buffy Reference, Charmed Fusion, Demons, F/F, F/M, Half-Demon Sandor, Himbo!Robb, Rhae the Whitelighter, Robb is a Himbo, Warlocks, Whitelighters (Charmed), Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggiepuff/pseuds/aggiepuff
Summary: Rhae wasn't supposed to become a Whitelighter until after all of her friends and family were long dead. Unfortunately for her, the Powers-That-Be are desperate and the bargain they offer is too good to pass up. Besides, how bad can two young Witches be? It's not like Sansa and Arya Stark are in danger of going Bad. Guiding them should be a cinch.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark, Robb Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Soulmate Singles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882498
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	UnDead

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing [Whedonista93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93) for being the best beta EVER!
> 
> And thanks to [Becky_Blue_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky_Blue_Eyes/pseuds/Becky_Blue_Eyes) for being an amazing sounding board and giving me such good ideas!

Rhae sighed. What she wouldn't give to be back in Paradise instead of standing on the front step of a big ass mansion waiting for someone to answer the damn door in the middle of winter.

She folded her arms over her chest and burrowed deeper into her black leather jacket. _Should've listened to Jenny Oldstone_. And wasn't that just a kick in the pants? Jenny said, when Rhae was given her assignment, that she should take a parka, but never let it be said that Rhae wasn't stubborn. Besides, who wanted to listen to the advice of a dead woman anyway?

The great door to the ridiculous mansion creaked open and a short older woman in a Housekeeper's uniform peered out at her. "May I help you?"

Rhae took a deep breath, concentrating on stopping her teeth from chattering. "Yes, please. I need to speak with Mrs. Stark on a matter of some urgency."

The Housekeeper eyed Rhae suspiciously. Rhae didn't blame her. Contrary to well meant advice, Rhae wore her favorite leather jacket, black heeled boots, dark wash jeans, and a maroon shirt. Had she been paying more attention, she wouldn't have subconsciously chosen a biker vibe when going to meet with Catelyn Stark but, well, here she was. 

"Wait one moment," the Housekeeper said finally, "I will see if the Missus is in."

Before the Housekeeper could close the door, Rhae quickly added, "Please tell Mrs. Stark I'm here on Whitelighter business."

The Housekeeper raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar word but nodded, disappearing back into the mansion. A moment that felt like an eternity later, she was back with a perplexed expression and inviting Rhae into the foyer. "The Missus will see you in the parlor," she said, leading Rhae to a comfortably elegant room off the foyer with a crackling fire in the grate.

Rhae made an immediate beeline for the flames. Her hands were numb and she stuck them out, luxuriating in the fire's warmth as she dethawed.

“I was unaware,” a cool voice said behind her, “that I was due for another Whitelighter.”

Rhae turned. A tall woman, her dark red hair streaked with gray, stood at the parlor door, eyes like chips of blue ice. Rhae grinned at her. “Oh, no,” she answered cheerfully, “I’m not here to be your Whitelighter. The PTB remember what happened last time.”

What happened last time couldn’t have happened to a nicer Whitelighter. Rhae had laughed until she cried when she found out too-good-for-you Jeyne Westerling had the nerve to fall in lust with her protectee’s husband. What Catelyn Stark did to the sanctimonious bitch still made her smile. 

Catelyn Stark, matriarch of the Whent Witches, folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

Rhae shifted nervously. She’d been glared at before, and by far more powerful beings, but there was something just a little terrifying about Catelyn Tully Stark. “I’m here because I need your help.”

“You need my help?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m new, you see, brand new, this is my first assignment new, and I need your help getting an introduction.”

Now both Catelyn Stark’s eyebrows rose. “An introduction?”

“Yes, please.”

“Why?”

Rhae swallowed. “Well, my new assignment is your daughters.”

Catelyn Stark frowned. “My daughters? Why are the Powers-That-Be assigning a novice to protect my daughters?”

“Because they terrified and traumatized literally everyone else.”

“My daughters? Mine? I mean, Arya I can understand, but Sansa?" Catelyn Stark shook her head. "You must be mistaken.”

Rhae shrugged helplessly. “I am not. If there was anyone else available trust me, I wouldn’t be here. I’d still be in Paradise instead of asking for your help.”

Catelyn Stark hummed. “Start from the beginning.”

* * *

Rhae fiddled with her straw’s paper wrapper. All around her the diner bustled with the Sunday brunch crowd, the delicious scents of bacon, eggs, and biscuits filling the air. It’d been a long time since Rhae had actual food - if there was a downside about Paradise, the lack of food might be it - and if it were any other day she’d be more focused on the ham, bacon and cheese omelet she ordered rather than their missing brunch companions. 

Catelyn Stark sighed. “Stop fidgeting. Truly, you must be very young.”

With a conscious effort, Rhae released her hold on the paper wrapper and sat back in her chair. A glass of water sat untouched in front of her but Rhae couldn’t even consider swallowing. Catelyn Stark had no such compunction. She sipped her coffee, expression calm and artfully neutral. 

The bell above the diner’s door dinged and a pair of young women entered, shaking off the snow from their heavy winter coats. The tall one was red haired with a strong jaw and bow shaped mouth tinted pale pink. Her eyes were a stunning ice blue and she wore a fashionable sweater dress, boots and tights under her coat. The other woman was at least a foot shorter, dark hair cut short at her shoulders, with piercing gray eyes in a delicate face, clad in dark jeans, combat boots and a heavy purple sweater. The only similarity the two seemed to share was the paleness of their skin, almost as pale as the snow falling outside.

The redhead spotted Catelyn Stark and nudged the shorter girl. Together, they made their way across the diner, dodging a waiter carrying a tray laden with food. Catelyn Stark stood to greet them warmly, embracing each of them and ushering them to take the two empty chairs. 

Rhae sat quietly, watching the girls exchange hugs and hellos with their mother. It hit her a little, seeing affection between mother and daughters, and grief was a pang in her chest. 

Rhae forced herself to refocus. Before she left Paradise, the PTB gave her a full dossier on both Sansa and Arya Stark. 

The Stark girls were powerful, far more powerful than the run of the mill practitioners. That was to be expected, being of both the Whent and Winter King lines. Arya Stark was gifted with mimicry, able to change her face as she wished for the period of one hour on top of normal witchcraft. Sansa Stark was an empath, able to read emotions when she touched another's skin. She was also a gifted potion maker. 

Rhae, however, was fully human when she was alive, although her mamá's family boasted several powerful Witches, as did her wolf-mother's. Her first real experience with magic beyond stories from her cousins and wolf-mother came after she died, when the Powers-That-Be offered her the opportunity to guide Witches as a Whitelighter. Of course, that opportunity wasn’t supposed to come for another hundred years but, well, here she was.

Arya Stark, the tiny brunette, eyed Rhae as she sat down. “Who’s she?”

“Manners,” Catelyn Stark chided her daughter. “It’s impolite to speak of someone as if they aren’t here.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She turned to Rhae. “Who are you?”

Catelyn Stark sighed. “Girls, I would like you to meet Rhae, your new Whitelighter.”

The color drained from both girls’ faces. 

“We don’t need a Whitelighter,” Sansa Stark spoke for the first time. 

“We don’t want a Whitelighter,” Arya added, glaring at Rhae.

“You don’t get a choice,” Catelyn Stark informed them. “I have spoken with Rhae and I must say, I am disappointed to hear that she is not your first Whitelighter but rather the most recent in a long line. What were you thinking, chasing all of them away?”

Arya huffed. “And what about your last Whitelighter?”

“That situation was different,” Catelyn Stark said primly. 

“I’m sure you’re a very good Whitelighter,” Sansa said, “but we don’t need a Whitelighter.” She directed that last at her mother.

Rhae sighed. “May I interject?”

Catelyn Stark waved her hand, inviting Rhae into the conversation. Rhae nodded her thanks then focused on the Stark sisters. “Let me be very clear,” she said firmly, “my determination to be your Whitelighter far outweighs your desire to get rid of me.”

Arya snorted. “Doubt that.”

* * *

Rhae understood now. She totally got it. 

The Stark sisters looked like angels. They were pretty, smart, talented, and powerful. They were also complete and total nightmares. 

Arya thought it was fun to fight literally anything that moved. Rhae lost count of the number of broken bones she healed for that reckless little idiot and this was still her first month with them. Arya also liked to put on the face of a monster and sneak up on Rhae (thankfully she only did that once and didn’t appreciate the consequences).

Sansa was a Warlock magnet. She was friendly and cheerful which Warlocks took to mean she was easy prey. Unfortunately, her strongest power was passive so the Warlocks weren’t far off the mark. When Rhae wasn’t healing Arya’s broken bones she was snatching Sansa from the jaws of death.

None of that even began to cover the defiance and borderline mean pranks Rhae faced at every turn. If they didn’t work so tirelessly to protect Innocents Rhae might suspect the Stark sisters of being on the Dark Side.

“Okay, that’s it!” she declared, dropping Sansa onto a couch in the girls’ townhouse in King’s Landing after successfully rescuing her from a Warlock for the third time that week. Arya, who was, for once, sitting and reading quietly, jumped at Rhae’s shout. 

“Are we finally rid of you?” she asked hopefully. 

Rhae bared her teeth, pointing a finger at the pipsqueak. “Not even close.” She began to pace. Something had to be done. The girls had too much magic to be getting into this much shit. 

_At least they aren’t Charmed._

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Gods forbid the Stark girls ever get another sister and become Charmed, their magic multiplied by three. Every Warlock, Demon, and Agent of Darkness would break down their door to get at their power. 

Someone knocked on the door and loud footsteps thumped from the front hall. “Anyone home?”

Sansa bounced to her feet, eyes suddenly wide and terrified. She dashed for the door. Rhae, without thinking, threw out her hand, a band of light wrapping around the tall redhead’s midriff and yanking her back.

Sansa collided onto the couch just as a massive man rounded the corner into the living room. He caught sight of Sansa being jerked back and his grotesquely scarred face reddened. “Who the fuck-” he roared, hand rising, power swirling in his palm ready strike at whoever was manhandling the young woman, then he stopped, staring at Rhae. 

Rhae stared back, mouth open in shock.

“Rhae?”

His gruff voice jerked her into action. A wild, happy grin spread across her face. She rounded on the sisters. “ _This_ is why you’ve been chasing away Whitelighters?”

Sansa flushed, struggling to sit up on the couch. Arya’s eyes narrowed. “You _know_ him?”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the big man accused. 

Rhae waved him off, too happy about this development to deal with his angry ass in that moment. “Of course I know Sandor,” she answered Arya. “He’s, like, one of my favorite people. Of course, I didn’t know he was half demon until after I died but still! If he’s the reason you’ve been chasing off your Whitelighters then this is going to be the best assignment ever!”

Sandor, apparently tired of being ignored, marched across the room and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her out of the room. Rhae stumbled, finally regaining her balance when he jerked her around and half shoved against the kitchen island. “Ow!”

“What are you doing here?” he growled, towering over her. 

Rhae grinned. “I’m a Whitelighter, San, and the Starks are my charges.”

“You - Whitelighter? But _how?_ You didn't exactly lead an unselfish life."

She flushed. It was true. Born the first child and only daughter of two wealthy women, Rhae was spoiled from her first breath. Still, she loved deeply which set her feet on an extraordinary path. "I didn't have an unselfish death," she reminded him.

Sandor's scowl eased though it didn't disappear. "I know, but that doesn't explain what you're doing here, now."

Rhae shrugged. “If you’ve been hanging out with Sansa and Arya then you know they’ve been getting rid of their Whitelighters, I assume because they don’t want anyone banishing you.”

Sandor’s scarred face reddened. “I didn’t find out they were doing that until last week,” he muttered irritably. “And since when do you know I’m a half-demon?”

“Like I said,” Rhae answered cheerfully, “I got a whole bunch of knowledge downloaded when I died.”

His expression darkened, gray eyes turning sorrowful. “Yes, you died.”

Rhae tossed her hair. She didn’t want to think about her death. It still hurt to remember and her bargain with the PTB made it prudent she didn’t dwell. “Yeah, I did. But now I’m here and maybe now the Starks will be less of a pain in my ass.”

Sandor grinned, vicious with far too many teeth. “That bad?”

“Apparently they’re desperate to keep you.” Her gaze slid past him to the two heads poking around the corner. She jerked her chin at them. “So, which one are you dating?”

Sansa, who saw her watching them, stepped forward. “Are you going to banish him?” Her wide blue eyes were nervous, flicking between Rhae and Sandor. 

“Ah," she muttered, "that one.”

Sandor’s hand shot out, wrapping around her bicep and squeezing painfully. The look in his eyes, framed by the twisted, gnarled mass of burned flesh, was murderous. “Do not-” he snarled.

“Interfere?” she snarled back, purple eyes narrowing dangerously. Tension hung between them, tight as a botoxed face. 

Finally, Sandor’s expression cracked and he smiled, ugly and mean, but it was a smile. “Glad we understand each other.” 

Rhae returned his smile, just as mean and just as ugly. 

Sansa blinked. “Wh-what just happened?”

Rhae pulled away from Sandor, his grip relaxed. “Sandor and I just came to an understanding,” she answered cheerfully. 

Later that evening, as Sansa prepared dinner (“A family meal,” she declared, “now that we’re all on the same side.”) Rhae sidled up to Sandor and poked him in the ribs. 

He turned from admiring Sansa as she moved about the kitchen to glower at her. “What?”

“Soulmate?” Rhae asked because she needed to know, was this just dating or was this forever and for always?

Sandor nodded and held up his forearm. Half covered by the sleeve of his button-down, Sansa’s first words to him were clear against his skin: _Magic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For example, there are twenty spells for making tea but none to save yourself from falling off a cliff._

Rhaenys blinked at the words, then looked back up at Sandor. “I don’t want to know how that conversation started.” 

Sandor laughed. 

* * *

Robb Stark, Rhae decided, was a very irritating human being. The eldest son of Catelyn and Ned Stark, no one was sure if he had magic or if he was just extremely lucky. Rhae personally thought he was probably blessed by a leprechaun - if only she could prove leprechauns existed. 

Either way, Robb Stark annoyed her immensely and he was the newest resident of the Stark Townhouse in the Silk District of King’s Landing. Which meant that he was, unfortunately, also her newest charge, so spoke the Powers-That-Be. 

“Could you, for once, not talk?” she groused, grabbing bags of groceries from the back of Sansa’s sensibly small SUV (for such a rich family, the Starks had rather modest tastes; it was Robb’s one saving grace, in Rhae’s opinion).

Robb, the irritating bugger, tilted his head. “I’m just curious. I mean, Mom said you’re Sansa’s and Arya’s new Whitelighter which is like a guardian angel right?”

Rhae ground her teeth. “Yes.”

He held open the door for Rhae, juggling his paper bag on one hip. “Does that mean you’re dead?”

Rhae slipped past him and wondered if it was breaking some sort of Whitelighter hippocratic oath if she hexed him. “You do realize how insensitive that is, right?”

Robb followed her into the kitchen. As Rhae began unpacking her bag of groceries, he tilted his head, studying her. “I’m just curious. I mean, it’s not every day you meet a dead person.”

Rhae shoved the milk into the fridge and slammed the fridge door shut. “If you wanna know about being dead, go talk to a medium. Better yet, step out into traffic and find out for yourself.”

Robb stuck his head out of the pantry. “But you’re right here. I mean, how did you die?” His stupidly pretty blue eyes blinked at her. “Was it bad? I mean, you look,” he gestured vaguely in her general direction, “you’re gorgeous, but how does that work? Do angels get plastic surgery if they get hit by a truck or something?”

Heat flared on Rhae’s cheeks even as tears pricked her eyes. Quickly, she turned on her heel and exited the kitchen.

Logically, Rhae knew Robb didn’t mean to be insensitive. He was an idiot with a Ph.D. who had no tact whatsoever. He didn’t know how Rhae died, how the last thing she saw was a pair of headlights swerving drunkenly all over the road and the last thing she felt was her baby brother’s chest under her hands as she pushed him out of the way. Robb didn’t know and she had absolutely no intention of ever telling anyone. 

* * *

“Can angels eat?”

“Robb,” Sansa cried sharply. 

Robb shrugged, talking through a mouthful of spaghetti noodles. “It’s a legitimate question.” He swallowed and looked at Rhae sitting across from him at the dining table. The table in front of her was devoid of even a plate because she wasn’t particularly hungry so she guessed it was a fair question, still, considering the last question he asked her about her Whitelighter state, she wasn’t particularly keen to answer. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking questions?”

“No,” he replied. Then, completely unphased by the daggers she was shooting at him with her eyes, he continued on, “If angels can eat, does that mean you can be allergic to things? Like, are angels allergic to demon stuff? Or Warlock stuff or -”

“I can heal, Stark,” Rhae sighed loudly over his incessant questions. “Even if I was allergic to something, I can heal myself as the allergic reaction happens. Does that satisfy your questions?”

“No, not really. I have a bunch more.”

“Sansa,” Rhae growled, “control your brother before I snap him in half!”

* * *

Traversing dimensions was a most decidedly _un_ pleasant experience. Just crossing the borders felt like swimming through cold molasses and there were so many different dimensions that were inhospitable to humans. She especially detested the nothing-but-shrimp dimension. Unfortunately, the potion needed to vanquish their monster of the week required the eye of a shrimp from the nothing-but-shrimp dimension which left her reeking of crustacean. 

She orbed into the Stark Townhouse solar with a shimmer of sparkling white light, hand firmly clutching a plastic baggie full of eye and goo. Rhae shoved the baggie at Sandor who took it without complaint, passing it to Sansa who added it to the small cauldron bubbling on the portable camp stove at the center of the table. 

The potion sparked at the addition of overly large shrimp eye, the steam darkening to a sickly green. At least the smell didn’t turn fishy. 

Her part done, Rhae headed for the shower. Halfway up the stairs, a voice called her name. “Rhae!”

She turned.

Robb stood at the bottom, looking up at her with shining blue eyes. “I know you hate the shrimp dimension,” he said, “so, thanks.”

Rhae licked her lips, surprised he knew that and surprised by his thanks. “You’re, uh, welcome.”

Robb took a step up the stairs. “And not just for the shrimp,” he continued. “I know you do a lot for us so thanks for that, too.”

Rhae flushed, disproportionately pleased. It wasn’t like the Starks never said thank you - well, maybe Arya never thanked her but Sansa did it all the time. Still, Robb seemed so earnest, looking up at with a smile on his full mouth, blue eyes wide and sincere. 

_Maybe he’s not so bad._

* * *

“Why are you awake?”

Rhae’s eyebrow twitched. _Nevermind. He’s a bigger pain in the ass than Arya._

Slowly, she turned. 

Robb stood, shirtless - _why are all the dumbasses so pretty?_ \- in the middle of the hall. Moonlight turned his chest to ivory, smooth and soft looking, shadowing the deliciously defined muscles of his abdomen. 

Rhae really didn’t want to deal with people at that moment. Unbeknownst to the Starks, it was her birthday. The only one who knew was Sandor. At breakfast that morning he’d placed a large hand on her shoulder, usually stony eyes sad. He hadn’t said a word but it had taken everything in her not to burst into tears in that moment. 

She was supposed to be twenty-five. 

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she furiously wiped it away, turning her face so he couldn’t see. 

“Rhae, what’s wrong?” He stepped towards her, reaching out. 

She stepped back reflexively. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

His hand fell back to his side. “No,” he said gently, “you’re not. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I said it’s nothing!”

Robb frowned but he didn’t push. Instead, he said, “Fine, it’s nothing. But, when it’s something, you can talk to me, alright?”

Rhae sniffed but didn’t reply. 

* * *

Of the many downsides to being a Whitelighter and dead, having magical powers was not one of them. 

Rhae floated on her back ten feet above the ground as if she was in a pool of water. The house was empty and, for once, there were no Warlocks hunting the Starks and no monsters to vanquish. Sandor, the lovesick puppy, had taken the ever lovely Sansa on some sort of romantic weekend getaway in the Reach's wine country and Arya was on a camping trip with some friends from university. That left Rhae alone in the townhouse to have a gloriously relaxing weekend, her first in a long time.

"I didn't know you could fly!"

Rhae sighed, turning on her stomach to glare at the intruder. Robb beamed up at her. Damnit, she’d forgotten about him. "What d'you want, Stark?"

“I wanna be the wind beneath your wings.”

She blinked. “Are you...are you hitting on me?”

“Have been for almost a year, thanks for noticing.”

“Stark,” Rhae sighed, “what do you want?”

“Can you turn people into frogs?” he asked. “Cuz Sansa turned that Joffrey prick into a frog and Arya turned that bitchy neighbor into a pig. I feel like all women should be able to turn assholes into things. And nonbinary people. You should just be able to turn bad people into things.”

“ _Stark!_ What do you want?”

His grin turned sheepish and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I need your help."

It was like swimming, returning to the ground. Her feet landed on the hardwood floor and the magic keeping her afloat faded in a shower of sparkles. "What's going on?"

In her bare feet, Rhae was a head shorter than Robb and when his blue eyes met her purple a faint pink tinged his cheeks. He swallowed nervously. “I think I, uh, accidently pissed off some kind of demon and now it wants to kill me.”

Well, there went her leprechaun blessing theory. No one blessed by leprechauns ran afoul of a demon - or the friggin Shtriga that barralled into the wards as Rhae scrambled to find the banishment spell. 

“Where is it? Where is it?” She raced through the Stark’s Book of Shadows, grateful the book was letting her touch it for once. 

“Thanks for helping!” Robb gasped, hands up as he held up the talisman to strengthen the wards. 

“Your death would be an inconvenience,” Rhae snapped, finally finding the right spell. 

The Shtriga screamed, high and piercing, almost at an ear bleeding pitch. Power swirled, whipping her hair. Robb joined in the chant, their voices rising, the magic rolling off their tongues. 

With the third repetition of the incantation the Shtriga burst into flames and when the fire died there was nothing left but ash. 

Rhae collapsed back, gasping. She’d never used so much power for a spell before. Robb flopped down next to her. “Friggin’ Shtriga.”

“Friggin’ Shtriga,” Rhae agreed. Sweat trickled down her spine and she shoved her hair back. “Gods, Robb, how did you even find a Shtriga?”

He shrugged helplessly. Shtriga, soul-sucking hell bitches, targeted children. From what Rhae had read, they tended to hang around hospitals and other places where kids slept. Why one decided to target, a (supposedly) full grown man, was beyond her. 

“Thanks again,” Robb said.

Rhae rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Like I said, I don’t need you dying on me. Not when there’s no one else around to blame.”

She stood, slapping at her jeans to get rid of the attic dust. A stain on her knee caught her eye and she peered closer. Her jeans were ripped and the dark skin on her knee was peeled away, dripping blood. Rhae sighed. A skinned knee was irritating because, while it didn’t hurt (yay being a Whitelighter and semi-dead), it would take forever to heal.

Beside her, Robb stood, moving slowly and groaning in pain. Rhae sighed again. She couldn’t heal herself but she could heal him.

“Come here,” she ordered, holding out her hands, palms glowing faintly. Robb submitted to the healing with a small smile that Rhae chose to ignore. It wasn’t as if she healed him because she _cared_. He was an annoyance, but one what she was supposed to look after. Healing him was looking after him. 

* * *

Rhae was cooking for once. She’d made a special trip to Little Dorne and collected all of the ingredients and now she was in the middle of her mamá’s seafood paella. The scents of saffron, sofrito and stock filled the air and she breathed in deep, taken back to her family’s kitchen in Dorne.

The front door opened and shut, Arya calling, “Hey, anyone home? I got a surprise!”

“In here!” Rhae called back without looking up. 

“Wow this smells like - Rhaenys?!”

Rhae whirled, heart stopping at the familiar voice. 

A pretty young man, roughly twenty-two, with curly dark hair and blue-gray eyes stared at her, mouth hanging open.

Rhae couldn’t breathe. Wind roared in her ears. She stared, unable to look away, unable to speak. 

Arya glanced between them. “You two know each other?”

Her voice broke Rhae from her paralysis. “You can’t be here,” she breathed, staring at Jon Stark-Martell. At her baby brother. 

“I - _I can’t be here?_ ” Jon sputtered. “YOU DIED!”

“Jon, I can explain,” Rhae tried. 

Jon, calm, sweethearted Jon was turning red. Rage rolled off him in waves and he stepped toward her, menacing. “You _died,_ ” he snarled. “You died and we _mourned!_ For _five years_ we mourned. We're still mourning all the while you’re living it up in King’s LANDING, MAKING PAELLA?”

His voice rose with every word and Rhae flinched. “I can _explain_!”

Jon reached blindly, his hand closing around one of Sansa's decorative, plastic autumn gourds. He chucked it at her with an enraged roar. It bounced ineffectually off Rhae's head which seemed to only stoke Jon's fury. “You’d _better_ explain!”

“Jon, what the hell?” Robb stood behind him, staring. 

Jon whirled. “YOU! YOU KNEW SHE WAS HERE?”

“Jon, stop!” Rhae shouted. “They didn’t know!”

Jon shook with an almost uncontrollable fury. “Explain yourself,” he hissed, colder than ice.

Rhae swallowed - then orbed.

She rematerialized right in front of Jon in a flash of soft white light, not even an arm’s length away. He jumped back, startled from his rage. “What-”

“Jon, please, listen to me.”

Jon’s chest heaved but he nodded, eyes overbright but he wasn’t shouting so Rhae took it as a good sign. “I’m what’s called a Whitelighter, Jon. I _am_ dead, I did die, and I came back as a sort-of guardian angel for Witches like Wolf-Mother.”

Jon seemed to deflate, the anger leaving him slowly. He nodded. “A Whitelighter.” Rhae might have been human when she was alive but Jon and their mother Lyanna were descendants of the Kings of Winter, descendants of the Stone line, a very old and very magical family. He knew about Whitelighters, Witches, Warlocks, and monsters. He frowned and the anger returned. “How long have you been a Whitelighter?”

“A little over a year,” Rhae answered reluctantly, knowing it wouldn’t calm him down. 

“A YEAR?”

“Jon, please!”

“YOU’VE BEEN BACK FOR A YEAR AND YOU DIDN’T REACH OUT? I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

“Wow,” Arya whispered, “I didn’t know Jon even knew how to yell.”

“Me dying was how this whole thing started,” Rhae tried to joke. 

The joke fell flatter than a pancake. 

“A FUCKING YEAR AND YOU COULDN’T TELL US YOU WERE OKAY?” Jon roared, coming at her. Rhae scrambled, backing away as fast as she could as he chased her around the kitchen island. “WE BURIED YOU, RHAENYS NYMEROS STARK-MARTELL! WE MOURNED YOU! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR DEATH DID TO AEGON? DO YOU??”

“What,” Robb broke in, staring at Rhae, “you’re Rhaenys Stark-Martell? We went to your funeral."

It was all too much. Jon's fury, Robb's confusion, Arya's fascination. Everything was a trainwreck. The world of walls and restrictions she'd built for herself - never leave King's Landing, never mention her past, never think about her family - it all came crumbling down in a handful of seconds.

Rhaenys burst into tears, great gasping sobs as she tried to speak. “J-Jon puh-please! I c-couldn’t! I w-wasn’t allowed! I m-made a d-deal and i-if I b-broke it y-you and E-Eggy w-wouldn’t g-get e-everyth-thing th-they p-promised!”

Warm arms wrapped around her shoulders, bringing her into a strong embrace. She sobbed into the broad chest, her words muffled. 

“Shh,” Jon’s gentle voice soothed, the sound rumbling in his chest. His hand ran up and down her back. “Shh, Sissy. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I just - I’m so grateful to see you again. Please, don’t cry.”

Rhae sobbed, tears drying, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. Her hands clutched his shirt, made damp with her tears. “It wasn’t supposed to b-be like this,” she hiccuped. 

Jon pulled back, hands shifting to grip her shoulders. He leaned down to peer into her eyes. “Tell me,” he ordered. 

So, Rhae told him. She told him everything. The words spilled from her in an unstoppable flood. About Paradise, about the Powers-That-Be offering her a job. “I wasn’t supposed to start for a hundred years,” she said. “Not until everyone I knew and loved was long dead and gone.”

“It’s only been five years,” Jon whispered, "almost six."

“I know!” Rhae wailed, tears falling anew. “But they didn’t have another choice. Your cousins chased away everyone else and the PTB were desperate!”

“Why didn’t you reach out?” Jon asked gently.

“It was the bargain,” she sniffled. Her face tingled and she was so, so tired. At some point Jon had led her to the living room and they were sitting on a couch. All she wanted was to curl up beside Jon and never let go of his arm. 

“What bargain?”

Rhae took a deep, shuddering breath. “I wasn’t going to come. I wasn’t ready to leave Paradise, but the Powers-That-Be said if I agreed to come back that they would make sure you and Eggy and our mothers would have Good Lives.” She wiped furiously at her face, meeting Jon’s eyes and desperately hoping he would understand. “They promised you would get every Blessing they could think of. All I had to do was never reach out or get someone else to reach out and keep the Stark sisters alive.”

“But,” Jon frowned, “Sansa and Arya are my cousins. Did they really think we wouldn’t run into each other?”

Rhae hung her head. “I didn’t think about that. I only thought that maybe I could get them to talk about you and Eggy, that I could keep tabs on you through them.”

“And instead I come in and ruin it?”

She stopped, staring at her hands. “Wait, no.” She looked up. Jon watched her, faint tear tracks running down his cheeks. _When did he cry?_

“Jonny, I don’t think you ruined it,” she whispered, some strange, light emotion rising in her chest. 

He blinked at her. “I didn’t?”

Rhae shook her head, suddenly grinning. “No, you didn’t! _I_ didn’t reach out. _You_ found _me_! There was nothing in the bargain about that! It was only that I couldn’t initiate contact! And I didn’t!” She bounced to her feet, full of nervous energy. She couldn’t sit still. “Jon! Do you know what this means?”

He blinked at her. “No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

Rhae spun on her heels, pacing the length of the living room. “Jon, the Starks are having a big autumnal feast this weekend.”

Jon nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m on my way there now. Thought I’d stop by on my up, see if Arya, Sansa and Robb wanted to carpool.”

“You _have_ to get our moms and Eggy to come.”

Her baby brother snorted. “Yeah, no. You know Mom and Aunt Catelyn don’t get along.”

Rhae rolled her eyes. “I am aware.” 

Lyanna Stark-Martell and Catelyn Stark hadn’t gotten along since the moment they met. Rhae didn’t really care about the details. What she did care about was Lyanna wanted her son to get along with his cousins even if she couldn’t get along with her goodsister so Jon spent most of his summers in The North. Rhae and Aegon, Jon’s half-siblings, were decidedly not invited, even though Elia and Lyanna were happily married for almost thirty years. 

None of that, however, mattered even a little bit. “Jon, I cannot reach out to Eggy or our moms myself. And I can’t ask you to tell them I’m here. How do we get them to discover that I’m back in the mortal realm?”

“They...have to run into you, like I did?” He guessed.

Rhae clapped. “Exactly!”

Jon groaned, relaxing into the couch. “Why does it have to be this weekend?”

Rhae glared. “Jon, I haven’t seen Mom or Mamá or Eggy in _over five years_. I have been stuck limbo hell knowing you are all out there but I can’t talk to you for _one year_. I _will not_ wait another week.

“Right, sorry.” Jon took a deep breath, clapped his hands on his knees, and stood. “I’ll call the parentals and Eggy. How are you going to deal with Aunt Catelyn?”

Rhae sighed. “I’ll talk to her. At the very least, your Uncle Ned will be happy.”

Catelyn Stark scowled but didn’t forbid Lyanna and Elia Stark-Martell’s return to Winterfell, the Stark family estate, not when Rhae explained. 

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, cold blue eyes pitying. “If I’d known who you were I’d have reached out to your parents myself. I went to your funeral.”

Rhae shrugged, not bothering with guilt for keeping her secret. “The PTB wouldn’t let me. Can my mothers and brother come, or not?”

“I don’t like Lyanna or the choices she’s made, but, yes, of course. You saved my daughters more times than I can count this past year and a half.”

Rhae grinned, relief washing over her. “Thanks, Mrs. Stark.” She turned to go, then turned back. “You went to my funeral?”

* * *

Rhae paced up and down the foyer of Winterfell, fighting the urge to gnaw on her poor fingernails, already bitten to the quick.

“I didn't realize you were Jon’s sister.”

Rhae jumped at the sound of Robb’s voice. She spun to face him.

He stood, framed by the entryway. Somehow, here in his family’s home, Robb Stark seemed bigger. He filled the space, body comfortably loose, but he watched her the same as he did in King’s Landing. Her stomach twisted and she bit her lip. 

His blue eyes didn’t leave her face as he stepped toward her. “I went to your funeral, you know?”

Rhae threw up her hands. “ _Everyone_ went to my funeral.”

Robb shook his head. “No, not like I did. I took Aegon to your funeral.”

Ice doused Rhae’s insides. “Eggy.” Tears pricked her eyes.

Aegon Stark-Martell, the brother she died to save.

“Is he - was he…”

Robb reached out, gently pushing a lock of black hair behind her ear. For a moment, Rhae feared he would lie to spare her feelings, but when he spoke it was only the truth.

“He was angry. Angry at himself, angry at you. If I’d known you were his sister…” His hand cups her cheek. Unconsciously, she leaned into his touch. “I visited him a lot when I was getting my Ph.D. at Sunspear University. Those first couple of years after you died weren’t good, Rhae - Rhaenys?” He frowned. “What should I call you? Jon always calls you Sissy or Nys…”

Rhae smiled, a little shaky and weak, but it was her first genuine smile in two days, ever since coming to Winterfell for the autumnal equinox weekend. “You call me Rhae, like you always have.”

Robb leaned closer, his breath mingling with hers. Unbidden she rose slightly on her toes -

She jerked back.

Much, much slower Robb pulled away, hand slipping down to her twine with hers. He squeezed gently then released her. With a small smile he went to open the door. 

Rhae couldn’t breathe. 

The first through the door was a short woman with light brown hair and snow-pale skin. She wasn’t looking where she was going, head turned to talk to a tall, dark skinned young man. 

The man’s dark purple eyes crinkled at the corners and he glanced over the woman’s head - and froze, color draining from his face. 

“Aegon, you’re in the middle of the door!” A woman’s husky voice scolded behind the young man. He reached blindly, eyes never leaving Rhae, grabbed someone, and yanked another woman, dark haired and dark skinned, through the door.

The woman stumbled. “Aegon!”

“Eggy, what’s going on?” the short brunette asked. Then, she turned. 

Rhae smiled weakly. “Hi parentals. Hi Eggy.” 

Elia Stark-Martell, who barely survived her pregnancies and whose constitution was not strong, collapsed.

Aegon caught her just in time and gently lowered her to the floor. 

Rhae orbed instinctively, reappearing kneeling over her mother. Before she could raise her hands, palms glowing a soft gold, a hand of iron wrapped around her bicep and yanked her away. She toppled back, looking around wildly, only to find Lyanna, her hands sparking with power. The short woman stood between Rhae and Elia and Aegon, feet planted firmly on the marble floor. Her eyes were hard as stone.

"How dare you take that face," Lyanna growled.

Rhae scrambled to her feet. "Mom-"

“How _dare_ you!” She hurled a vicious ball of power.

Rhae dived. Lyanna’s magic cracked the marble floor, dust spraying. 

“Mom!”

“Aunt Lyanna!” Robb jumped in front of Rhae. 

“Move, Robb!”

Rhae tried to shove Robb away. Though the son of a Witch, he had no spells. He couldn’t defend himself and Lyanna’s power was lethal. “Robb, move, please!”

“No!” Robb defied them both, reaching back to hold Rhae in place. “Not until you listen to me, Aunt Lyanna.”

“That _thing_ has my daughter’s face,” Lyanna snarled. “She defiles my Rhaenys’ memory. Why do you defend it?”

Rhae whimpered, clutching reflexively at the back of Robb’s shirt. She had never heard such hate in Lyanna’s voice before. 

“She doesn’t have Rhae’s face,” Robb snapped. “She _is_ Rhae!”

“Lya?” Elia whispered weakly. “Lya, did I see…?”

Lyanna bared her teeth and, for once, did not go to her wife’s call. “What do you mean that thing is Rhae?”

Rhae peaked around Robb’s broad shoulders. “I’m a Whitelighter, Mom.”

“A Whitelighter?”

“Yes,” Catelyn answered, descending the stairs. “Your daughter has been the Whitelighter for Sansa and Arya for almost two years now.” She glanced at the crack in the marble floor. “Really, Lyanna, did you have to almost destroy my foyer?”

Lyanna ignored Catelyn. She stared at Rhae. “You’re really Rhaenys? My Rhaenys?”

Rhae stepped around Robb, holding herself ready to orb away. “Yes, Mom. It’s really me.”

“ _Mija?_ ” Elia stared up at Rhae, Aegon at her back, purple eyes equally wide. 

“Hi, Mamá.”

“I think it’s best if you continue this reunion in the parlor,” Catelyn suggested. 

Aegon stood, pulling Elia to her feet. He took a step inside - power swelled, bubbling through the air black as pitch. A horrid, evil laugh echoed through the room. 

“What?!”

A figure formed, shadowy and indistinct, at the other end of the entry hall. It came toward them, solidifying until it was a short, pale man with a thin beard and brown hair. He grinned at them, mouth too wide, teeth too many and all far too sharp. 

“It has been too long,” the man said, his accent clipped and posh, voice thin and oily. 

“Who are you?” Aegon demanded. Rhae glanced at her brother. He stood between Elia and the stranger. Beside him, Lyanna had her hands up again, power like lighting dancing between her fingers. 

Soundless bells chimed in Rhae’s head and she gasped, the Powers-That-Be answering Aegon’s question. “You’re Baelish.”

Baelish turned his grotesque smile on her. From the hall behind him, Jon, Ned Stark, and the Stark’s foster children Asha and Theon Greyjoy rounded the corner at a run. 

Ned skidded to a stop, blocking the others from getting too close. 

Baelish, hearing them, turned to examine the newcomers. “Ah,” he breathed, “of course.”

Fear set tremors through Rhae, the knowledge sent by the PTB almost overwhelming her senses, but she was the Whitelighter. It was her duty to protect the living. 

Rhae stepped forward, reaching out with her power even as she focused on Baelish, drawing his attention. “How are you free?”

Her magic twined around the living as Baelish turned to her. “The Witches of four elements, all children of the eldest, have come and released me from my prison. I was waiting for this day.”

“But I’m not a Witch.” Her fists clenched and her magic tightened its hold on the living. 

Baelish grinned, mouth pulling back to show those too many teeth, lips almost reaching his ears. “Fun fact, little girl: for any spell, hex, curse, or magical working that calls for a Witch, a Whitelighter can take their place.”

“Oh, that is _so_ not good.” Rhae orbed, taking the Starks and Stark-Martells with her. 

They reappeared in a shower of silver sparkles in the middle of Winterwood Park, three miles from the Winterfell estate. 

“That,” Elia gasped, “was unpleasant.”

Rhae darted to her mother, releasing Robb’s hand (when did she grab it?). “Mamá, are you okay?”

“Yes, _mija_ , I’m fine.” Elia looked at her, deep brown eyes searching her face. “Is it really you?’

Rhae nodded, tears in her eyes. “ _Sí,_ Mamá, _soy yo_.”

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around Rhae and lifted her high, squeezing her so tight she could barely breathe, crushing her to a solid chest. “Eggy!” she gasped. “Breathe - air - need!”

Aegon released her and Rhae spun to give her baby brother his own hug, breathing in the wonderfully spicy scent of his cologne. He’d upgraded from the teen body spray he’d been using. 

“I’m very glad everyone is enjoying the reunion,” Catelyn cut in, “but would someone please explain to me what that thing was in my house?”

Rhae released Aegon reluctantly, facing the Starks and Greyjoys. Jon, released from Rhae’s magic, had come to stand with Lyanna, propping her up as she recovered from the orbing-induced nausea. 

“That thing is named Baelish.”

“We got that,” Theon snarked.

Rhae narrowed her eyes at him. She’d never liked Theon Greyjoy. There was no denying his power, he definitely inherited the Greyjoy magic, but he was also a giant git.

Silent bells rang in her head. 

Rhae dropped to her knees, the forest vanishing, her senses barraged by sounds and smells and visions of things centuries long gone.

A Creature who was once a Warlock who was once a man knelt before an altar of sickly green flame. 

_Children of water, Children of stone_

A dark woman stood upon the prow of a ship, watching as her people fled the river that was their home.

_I take thy power and never grow old_

A pale man held hammer and chisel, working diligently to carve a face in granite.

_Children of fire, Children of air_

A crone, her back bent with age, stood at the center of a hurricane, arms raised high, cackling madly into the wind. 

_Your power keeps me strong and fair_

A man, silver haired and beautiful, threw golden fire.

_With this power I command the Four_

The green flames on the Creature’s altar flared, illuminating symbols and sigils and runes painted across the floor in blood dried black.

_Answer me death, plague, famine and war_

Eight figures ringed the Creature, four men and four women. 

_White, red, black and gold_

Magic swirled in a tornado of power, fire red, air yellow, water blue, and stone green whirling into one, flowing into the bent, aged body of the old woman.

_With the horseman, this realm I hold_

Directed by the crone’s hands, the magic poured in a torrent of power, lancing the Creature where it screamed at the center of their circle.

“Rhae! Rhae, can you hear me?”

A hand shook her. She gasped, coming to in a wave of fear. 

Lyanna knelt over her, blue-gray eyes searching her face. Behind Lyanna were Jon, Elia and Aegon.

Rhae’s chest heaved as she fought to breath. It was rare that the PTB spoke so loudly, so clearly, and said so much. It was almost as if they were panicking. 

She sat up. _And what does it mean for our chances if the PTB are panicking?_

“What was that?” Ned Stark stood beside his wife, watching as his sister and nephew helped Rhae to her feet. 

“What’s going on?” Asha demanded. 

Unlike Theon, Rhae actually liked Asha. She and the Greyjoy Witch were of a similar age and they’d hung out some when Asha visited Arya and Sansa in King’s Landing. 

“Someone needs to call Arya and Sansa and tell them to keep away from Winterfell,” Rhae said instead.

“Already done while you were on the floor," Catelyn informed her. "They also have Bran and Rocking with them. Now tell us what is going on. What was that shadow man?"

Rhae took a deep, steadying breath. "It's name is Baelish," she answered. "He's a human from three hundred years ago who stole a Witch's power to become a Warlock and then sold his soul to a Demon to get even more powerful. Then he decided to start the apocalypse."

"The apocalypse, really?" Theon rolled his eyes.

Rhae snorted. "I know, right? Such a cliché."

"And how was the human-turned-Warlock-turned-Demon-puppet defeated?" Ned asked, deep voice calm in the midst of insanity.

“Eight children of four elements.” Rhae frowned, trying to remember the spell the Witches of old used. “They bound him and...I think he got released because eight children of four were all in one place.”

“No,” Lyanna interrupted, looking between the ten gathered in the small clearing, “there are no children of fire here. Ned and I, we are of stone; Cat, you’re water -”

“Aegon is of water, too,” Elia added, “a son of the Witches of the Rhoyne.”

Catelyn nodded. “And Asha and Theon are storm Witches, children of air.”

“But there are no children of fire,” Ned finished. “Most of them died with The Doom of Valyria.”

Again went the silent bells. 

Rhae rubbed her forehead; she could feel a headache coming on. “Uh, actually,” she waved between herself and Jon, “Jonny and I are children of fire.”

“Excuse me?” Lyanna raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

Rhae sighed. “The Powers-That-Be just informed me that apparently the sperm doner you and Mamá used was of the Targaryen line; a son of fire.”

Catelyn rubbed her eyes. “That’s wonderful. Do you have a spell to banish him? Or do we have to go back to the estate for the Book of Shadows?”

“I think - _ow!_ ” Rhae’s knees buckled. Robb grabbed her arm, keeping her on her feet. _Gods, the PTB sure are_ loud _for not making any noise._

“You okay?” Robb’s other hand moved up and down her back. 

Rhae nodded, shoving back her hair. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She looked around. Everyone was staring at her. She debated for a moment. _Should I tell them?_

The answer came easy. _No._

“I have the spell,” she said. “It’s easy, rhymes and everything.”

“What is it?” Aegon asked. His serious purple eyes were fixed on her face. He was so tall. _When did he get so tall?_

It was the greatest pride in Rhaenys’ life, pushing Aegon out of the way of a drunk driver. She would never, _ever_ regret that choice. And she would never regret accepting the PTB’s bargain and getting to see him and Jon and her mothers again. 

“Does anyone have a piece of paper?” she asked. 

Elia dug into her large mom purse and pulled out a notepad and pen. “Here, _mija_.”

Rhae took it, scribbling down the spell. “We’ll need to go back to Winterfell to cast it,” she explained, returning the pen to Elia. “I’ll take Mr. and Mrs. Stark, Mom, Eggy, Jon, and the Greyjoys back. Mamá, Robb, you two stay here. We’ll come back for you when we’re done.”

“I’m not staying here!” Robb protested. 

Rhae scowled. “Yes, you will.”

Elia opened her mouth but Lyanna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, _mo ghaol_. I need you safe.”

Rhae’s scowl melted, seeing her mothers so tender. Elia covered Lyanna’s hand with her own. “Alright, _mi amor_ ,” she sighed. 

Robb tugged Rhae around to face him. “You are not leaving me here,” he whispered furiously. 

“Robb,” Rhae hissed, “I need you to stay here.”

“Why?”

“ _Mi mamá_ ,” Rhae lied. If Robb came along, Rhae knew she wouldn’t have the courage needed to do what had to be done. She was already taking her brothers and one of her mothers. That would be hard enough. If she took Robb...Rhae licked her lips. “I need you to look after her. Please?”

The fight left him. His grip on her shoulder loosened. “Alright,” he agreed quietly. 

In a move reminiscent of Elia, Rhae placed her hand on top of Robb’s and squeezed. “ _Gracias._ ” Then, in a spur of the moment decision, she bounced onto her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “ _Te amo._ ”

Before he could respond, Rhae stepped away, going to her mamá and wrapping her arms around her for the first time in almost seven years. 

“Be safe, _mija_ ,” Elia whispered. 

“I will,” Rhae promised. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

When Elia finally released her, Rhae wiped a single tear from her cheek. She stood for a moment, memorizing her mamá’s face then reached out with her magic, taking the Greyjoys, the Starks and her brothers with her as she orbed. 

“When all this is done,” Ned groaned, swallowing thickly, “I never want to travel by Whitelighter again.”

“Ditto,” Asha grumbled. “Seriously, Rhae, how do you stand it?”

Rhae shrugged. “It doesn’t actually bother me.”

Catelyn took a deep breath and looked around. The eight of them stood in the Stark’s living room. “Let’s get this done. The spell?” She held out her hand.

Rhae handed it over. “We need to be in a circle. Jon, you’re beside me; Aegon, you and Mrs. Stark opposite us. Baelish was first bound in the same place where Winterfell now stands. The estate is at some sort of axis point for magical power.” 

“What about us?” Theon demanded.

Rhae chose to ignore the Greyjoy boy’s tone. “It doesn’t matter which side of the circle you’re on as long as you’re opposite Mom and Mr. Stark. They’re stone and you’re air, elemental opposites.”

“Whatever.”

Asha rolled her eyes behind her brother’s back. Rhae’s mouth twitched. 

“Alright,” Jon said, moving to stand beside her, “now what?”

Rhae took a deep breath. “Now, we hold hands, we say the spell, and you direct your power to me.”

Catelyn’s eyebrows rose. “We direct our power to you? All eight of us?”

"Yes." Rhae met her eyes squarely wishing, for the first time in her life, that she was a telepath. _Please don’t say anything._

Catelyn pressed her lips into a thin disapproving line but didn’t speak. 

“Do we need to repeat the spell?” Lyanna asked, studying the paper Ned passed her.

“Uh, yeah,” Rhae nodded, “it needs to be repeated four times.” she looked around, listening hard for the telltale sounds of a demented soul coming to kill them. It would take a while for Baelish to regain his full strength but until then he could still pack a mean punch.

Jon handed her the spell. Rhae looked around the circle and held up the piece of paper. “Everyone got it?”

With a round of nods, Rhae stuffed the spell into her back pocket. “Let’s get started.”

_Children of water, Children of stone_

_We guard this hearth, we guard this home_

_Children of fire, Children of air_

_Our powers combine, do not despair_

_Eight become four, four become one_

_We join together until battle done_

_This Being's powers we forever bind_

_From now until the end of time!_

Wind rose, whipping around the living room. A chair toppled. 

Baelish materialized at the center of their circle with a furious scream.

Power, invisible and suffocating, poured into Rhae. She grit her teeth. “Again!”

The spell burned her tongue. The magics of stone, fire, air and water bubbled like acid in her blood. 

Baelish whirled, following the path of magic. “ _You!_ ” he hissed, too-wide mouth baring fangs.

“Again!”

Magic poured from her eyes, ears, nose and mouth. It crashed over Baelish, wrapping him in chains of power. He fought desperately, black magic oozing along paths of elemental power, reaching with claw-like tendrils for her throat and heart. 

When first the eight bound him, it was an old Witch of air, her life nearly done, who served as conduit. She had been powerful, far more than her companions, age gracing her with an iron will as she directed the spell. Rhae had not the old Witch's wisdom, born of many years practicing magic, but she had a strength of Valerian steel. The magic would burn her to ash as it had the old Witch, but Rhae would make sure it took Baelish with her.

"Again!"

Their voices rose, shouting to be heard over the roaring wind and intangible maelstrom of magic.

Baelish screamed. Light flashed red, yellow, blue, green.

Rhae blinked. 

She lay in vast, empty whiteness. There was no ceiling above her and no ground below. 

"Well done."

The voice was soft and loud, like the trickle of water over stones and the crackle of flames whipped into a fury by the wind. It was all things and nothing, pain and comfort.

Rhae gasped, clapping her hands over her ears.

"That won't help," a woman cackled.

Rhae whirled. An old woman who was not there before sat cross-legged, floating in the nothingness. Rhae squinted. "I know your face."

The crone smiled, showing missing teeth. "You should. We died the same way."

"You're the old Storm Witch," Rhae breathed.

The Storm Witch nodded. "I am and you, girlie, did a very good job."

Rhae blinked, startled. "I did?"

The Storm Witch nodded, gray dreadlock falling across her black face. "Yes, a very good job. So good, in fact, that the gods wish to offer you a reward."

"Is that why you're here?" Rhae asked. "To give me my reward?"

"In a way," she cackled. "I'm here because you might be hurt should they speak to you directly, as you discovered."

Rhae swallowed hard. "The PTB were the voice?"

"Aye, they were. Now, in regards to your reward, what do you want?"

Well, that was easy. Rhae knew what she wanted. She wanted to go home. She wanted to live her life as a mortal with her family and friends. She wanted to get married, have children. She wanted to grow old with the man she loved. But she wanted to do all of that with her Whitelighter magic.

Rhae eyed the Storm Witch. "Did they give you any restrictions?"

The old woman's smile grew even wider. "No," she answered with barely restrained glee, "they did not."

* * *

Rhae coughed, lungs fighting to pull in air.

Something rustled beside her. “Rhae?”

Her whole body ached - _holy shit,_ her body hurt!

The Powers-That-Be granted her wish!

Rhae was still reeling, eyes blinking open. A brown face peered down at her, dark purple eyes searching. “Sissy?”

"Ow." Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

"You're alive!" A large body collided with her chest, muscled arms wrapping around her.

Rhae gasped. "Yes," she croaked, "I'm alive but I won't be if you don't let me breathe."

Aegon quickly pulled back. When Rhae finally got a good look at his face she saw tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Eggy, no," she whispered, hand gently cupping his face, "please don't cry."

Aegon sniffed. "I thought I lost you again." He leaned into her touch. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she told him firmly, "it was my choice and I will never regret it, but it will be your fault if my voice is permanently damaged. Get me some water."

Aegon laughed wetly. "Risen from the dead and your still so damn bossy." He stood and went to a small table in the corner of the room. Rhae's eyes followed him, seeing for the first time that she was in some sort of parlor room, full of elegantly carved wooden furniture and doilies. She lay in state on a long, low table, wearing a soft black dress.

"Gods, how long have I been out?"

Aegon returned, holding a glass of water. He handed it to her. "It's the second day of your vigil."

Rhae blinked sitting up to take the water. "What? But it felt like I was gone only for a couple seconds."

"Drink," Aegon ordered. As she obeyed, he continued, "You were dead, Rhae. No heartbeat, nonresponsive, well and truly dead. Catelyn Stark said channeling the power of eight Witches burned you up," his purple eyes narrowed, "but you knew that would happen, didn't you?"

Rhae bit her lip, looking away. "Yeah."

"Why would you _do_ that?"

Rhae turned furiously back to him. "Because it had to be done! If I didn't that thing would have started the apocalypse and I'd much rather the whole world didn't die, alright? And my whole dying thing doesn't matter because guess what, I'm not dead!"

Aegon stilled. He scrutinized her. "You're not dead?"

Rhae grinned. "I'm not dead. I'm not even Whitelighter undead. I mean, I still have my powers" - she held up a hand that glowed faintly gold - "but I'm alive, 100%, my heart beats, I feel pain, I'll grow old, _alive!"_

Aegon whooped, engulfing her in another hug. At his shout, the door opened and Jon stuck his head in. Seeing Rhae sitting up, holding Aegon, he yelled, and suddenly the room was full of laughing, shouting people. Rhae was swarmed by her family, a horde of Martell cousins, aunts, and uncles crowding around to exchange hugs and handshakes and kisses on the cheek. Then Aegon shouted the news of her mortality over the noise and Rhae suddenly couldn't hear herself think.

Elia and Lyanna planted themselves on either side of her, holding her close and pressing kisses to her cheeks, hair, temple and forehead, laughing and crying with unrestrained joy. _Tio_ Oberyn and _Tia_ Ellaria were holding each other, laughing almost hysterically. Tall, strong Obara blubbered like a baby, held up by a beaming Arianne while Nymeria, Tyene, and Sarella danced in a circle with joy. Quentyn and Trystane clapped each other on the back and shook their father, _Tio_ Doran's hands. Jon and Aegon, like their mothers, refused to leave Rhae's sides, frequently reaching out to touch her shoulders as if reassuring themselves she was still there.

Over the collection of dark heads, Rhae saw the door open again. A new figure pushed his way to the front of the throng.

Robb Stark's pale skin seemed almost ethereally white against the backdrop of Dornish brown Martells and his black button down shirt. He glared at her, blue eyes overbright, tear tracks marking his cheeks. “I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge."

The words on her left shoulder, faded gray in death, tingled. Realization dawned bright and warm in her heart. She beamed. “Can I pick?”

Robb froze, his shoulder twitching. “Did - did you?”

Around them, the voices of the Martells faded, their attention caught by the drama unfolding in their midst.

“Check your words,” Rhae ordered. 

He tore his shirt off. Just under his left collarbone, the words _Can I pick?_ curled across his skin. They glittered gold, the color of a Soulmate met. 

Robb stared at his Words. “They were gray,” he whispered. “They’ve been gray for over six years and now…” He looked at her. “You’re...are you alive?”

Happy tears spilled from Rhae’s eyes. She nodded, smiling wildly. “Yes! Yes, I’m alive!”

Robb beamed. 

Without thinking, Rhae launched herself at him. Robb caught her, strong arms holding her tight. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair. "Please never, ever die again."

Rhae giggled and discovered she was crying. "I'll do my best not to," she promised.


End file.
